


It Was June

by forsimplicityssake



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Slow Burn, and i mean slooooow, but where's the fun of being a teenager if you aren't dramatic?, like a decade's worth, so much pining, so this is a wreck fyi, they're feeling a LOT for their age
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-07-27 18:46:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20050792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forsimplicityssake/pseuds/forsimplicityssake
Summary: What if “In a Crowd of Thousands” referenced a time and place between a grand duchess of an ancient family and a deputy commissioner of a new order? A retelling of a hot day in June that would have repercussions over a decade later when a street sweeper finds herself alongside a Bolshevik soldier.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, still obsessed.
> 
> This is just a random thought that come through the other afternoon and I figured, why not play it out and see what happens? I was originally going to just do a long, single one-shot, but I think I'll break it into three parts: Gleb, Anya, and then their reunion of sorts. I just want my idiots happy, OK? Feel free to point out any inconsistencies, but take into account that I did about 5% research and that's all. The rest is based on the original broadway recording and play. 
> 
> Also for reference, I'd say this occurred sometime around 1913-1914 making Anastasia approximately 13 and oh, let's make Gleb somewhere about 15 or so. It's all innocent, I swear, in that way a first crush is when you're in middle school.
> 
> Thank you for your time.

Gleb Vaganov knew he shouldn’t be here. With every cautious look thrown over his shoulder, he was certain he would be found out and thrown into jail; or perhaps worse. Any good and loyal Russian should’ve been at least a hundred yards away from the parade procession, but Gleb found himself inexplicably drawn to the opulent show of wealth and power.

Dressed in his father’s gray green coat and a pair of muddy brown woolen trousers, he definitely stuck out in the crowd of boisterous wellwishers. There were whispers around Saint Petersburg that this may perhaps be the last of the great Tsardom’s parades as soon the winds of change (Gleb always thought that phrasing seemed a tad dramatic) would be sweeping through Russia. However, many people still lived in a bubble of ignorance, happy to be thrown a smile or a wave from a member of the royal family. Starvation had yet to claim the number of lives necessary to fuel a revolution; the cluelessness of the Tsar and Tsarina had yet to infuriate the people into caring for a cause.

Underneath the sweltering glare of the summer sun, Gleb stood steadfastly as he watched a show of Russian soldiers seemingly glide by with their rifles pressed firmly across their shoulders. Their precision was admirable, thought Gleb, but their loyalties were placed incorrectly. Soon, a reckoning would come and those who struggled to survive would find themselves leading Russia into a new era.

Sweat beaded at Gleb’s brow, but he refused to show any discomfort. If those participating in the parade could seem unencumbered by the heat, so could he. 

A slowly magnifying roar caught his attention down the plaza strip and Gleb turned his head in the direction. People’s arms became more frantaic as they threw them up to wave at passing members of the military and royalty. With the sheer volume of the crowd’s voice becoming more and more overwhelming, it was obvious that the royal family of the House of Romanov was approaching.

With a squint of his eye, Gleb could make out a carriage pulled by a team of six white horses coming down the plaza. What an ostentatious waste of money, he mused, for how many mouths could that carriage feed?

All the same, Gleb still found a part of himself intrigued by the royal family. He had seen them grow up through photos released to the public; had seen Tsar Nicholas II give a speech now and then, though the Tsarina and her brood of children did always seem to avoid any sort of public display. He had caught a glimpse of the older sisters, the Grand Duchesses Olga and Tatiana Nikolaevna, when they made rounds through a fair in Vditsko several years ago. Beyond that, however, the family was a true mystery to many Russians, Gleb included. 

His mother had always instilled in him a gentle understanding of the Russian government and how, even though times were looking worse, it was always important to be loyal to one's leaders. His father, on the other hand, had always prided himself in being an independent man and was a part of several groups that often gathered for meetings in undisclosed places to “contemplate free thinking.” Between the two of them, Gleb often found himself pulled in several directions. While he was most definitely his father’s son and wanted nothing more than to become just like him, his mother’s more modeset mannerisms embedded themselves in Gleb and caused him hesitation on more than one occasion. 

As the six grand horses drew closer to Gleb’s position along the street, he could make out a few figures in the front of the carriage. Sitting proudly was the Tsarina Alexandra Feodorovna alongside her husband, the Tsar of Russia, Nicholas II. With a straight back and cold eyes, the Tsarina gave cautious looks to the people dotted along side the procession route, raising her hand slightly now and then to acknowledge someone’s glance. Tsar Nicholas II was a bit more open in his countenance and attempted a half smile every so often. The awkwardness and anxiety of the royal family was not missed on Gleb and he realized how much they must truly hate public appearances. Their only son and heir, the Tsarevich Alexei Nikolaevich seemed the most… Gleb wouldn’t say _ excited_, but perhaps, engaged and leaned a fraction out of the open carriage to catch the smiles of his people. Glen wondered if it was his youth that allowed him to be so ignorant to the plight of the Russian people or if he truly didn’t care. Gleb couldn’t excuse a child’s cognitive awareness as, when he himself was the same age as the Tsarevich now, he knew the pain of suffering for a warm meal.

The carriage containing the three abruptly rolled by Gleb and he barely caught sight of them. They, of course, didn’t spare a glance towards Gleb and he found himself relieved to have passed under their gazes without so much as a blink.

The Tsar’s carriage proceeded a second, though less grand, one containing the four daughters of the royal family. Gleb found himself inadvertently standing a bit taller, rocking forward on his toes to get a better view. He could blame it on his basic male biology, but perhaps he truly wished to see them. Knowing the ages of the Grand Duchesses, Gleb was aware that the youngest would be a year or two behind him in years. The Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna rarely made public appearances, but was talked about frequently in circles of young men everywhere. Some wished to kill her, others to court her, but there was always a theme of her beauty, her fiery eyes, and her stubbornness. Perhaps, Gleb considered to himself, he only wished to disprove the rumors regarding her with his own eyes.

The carriage sat the four girls—women? they could probably be considered women at this point—facing each other so that the first two to cross Gleb’s position on the side of the road were turned away from him. Judging by their height and the haughty angle of their chins, they would most definitely be Olga and Tatiana Nikolaevna. Their hair was piled in large coifs atop their heads and dainty tiaras encrusted with a superfluous amount of gems twinkled under the June sky. Their shoulders were pulled back tightly, their appearances giving no amount of unnecessary kindness to the onlookers. 

Gleb almost scoffed aloud at their ridiculous postures. Perhaps they thought themselves of some divine birth, but truly, it was a matter of luck that allowed them to be in their current position. 

The road the procession passed on was curved and therefore, Gleb could see the other two daughters before they could see him. One one side was the second youngest, Grand Duchess Maria Nikolaevna, with her hair braided back and dotted with gems. She sat at a slightly less harsh angle, her shoulders rounded a hair as she seemed to lean into the roar of the crowd allowing a gentle pull at her lips now and again. Gleb noted that she almost seemed to want to return the so called love that was being poured upon her by the crowd, but her duty would not allow it. She appeared the most genteel of the four with a softer countenance. Gleb shook his head minutely at the thought; she was still a part of this outlandish and monstrous family and was no better off for her personality. 

As the carriage began the full turn into the long strip past Gleb, the young man’s eyes snapped to the last daughter. Whether or not it was voluntary, Gleb found that he couldn’t look away from the youngest Grand Duchess, Anastasia Nikolaevna. 

The world seemed to become both slower and faster at once. Thick, oppressive heat swirled up from the pavement and the weight of his father’s gray green coat felt all too heavy at the same time. He wouldn’t remove it though; he would wear it as a sign of rebellion. The wool of his trousers rubbed uncomfortably along his waist and knees and the collar of his shirt hugged dangerously around his throat. How dare his body betray him in this final moment when he wished to look upon the girl his age with the disdain of a thousand people. He wanted to portray his loathing appropriately and now, of course, the blood of a young man so easily swooned by a beautiful girl, chose to deceived him.

A turn about a quarter of a mile up the road forced the procession to slow accommodating the tighter angles that progressed further into the center of Saint Petersburg. 

Involuntarily, Gleb found himself walking in-step with the carriage as it continued onward. The sounds of people’s shocked gasps and indignitant comments fell on deaf ears as Gleb disregarded them. Pushing through the crowd, he now found himself parallel with the Grand Duchesses’ carriage and his eyes bore dangerously into the profile of the youngest daughter. He couldn’t explain why, but some yearning part of himself buried deep under layers of patriotism and pride felt compelled to make eye contact with the Grand Duchess Anastasia before this parade came to an end. Gleb felt as if he could hear an inner voice—oh, what a deliciously mutinous sound—chanting, “look at me, look at me,” as if nothing mattered beyond his next breath but her acknowledgement. It was sickening, a young man of his beliefs, to be laying himself prone below her haughty, iridescent gaze, but Gleb felt like a man lost in the desert, eyes scanning frantically for a slip of cool blue to ease the suffering.

It had been often rumored, as most nearly all information under the skyline of Saint Petersburg seemed to be, that the Romanov line was cursed (or blessed, depending on the person’s prerogative) with eyes akin a speckled night sky; impossibly deep, demanding, and unbearably overwhelming. Gleb liked to imagine that he was just curious and wished to squash these rumors, if only to undermine a piece of power unnecessarily gifted to the royal family.

Several guards along the procession route cast warning glances at Gleb as he continued on his mission. They held fast the line that separated the public from their royal rulers and one, a green-eyed youth perhaps around Gleb’s age, took a step towards him as if to remind Gleb of where he was and how to act.

The carriage halted briefly as the Tsar and Tsarina’s own ahead slowed to turn down a rather abrupt street corner and it was at this very moment that the Grand Duchess Anastasia seemed bored with her current view and turned her head minutely to her right.

Perhaps Gleb’s motions through the crowd and caught her peripheral attention or perhaps she just wished to ease the tension in her neck, but at that exact moment, Gleb appeared only two rows behind the front line and dark, desperate umber clashed violently with bright azure.

Gleb couldn’t believe it; he was actually gazing into the eyes of the Grand Duchess and she wasn’t looking away. One heartbeat, then two (Gleb counted) and no, she held still, fixed on him. Part of Gleb assumed she would pass nonchalantly over him with a hazy stare, but what surprised him even more was that she wasn’t just blindly scanning; he could see cognizance and a light shining from within her eyes. She was almost studying him, watching to see what he would do, scrutinizing every inch of his form.

Gleb felt himself straighten under her considering regard as if to challenge her. Yes, he was not royalty, but he wouldn’t be cowed into submitting himself so readily. Gleb’s eyes traced over her delicate features, clearly European if the upturn of her small nose was any indication. He continued on, inventorying her high cheekbones—still round from youth—slim shoulders and elegant neck. Though not yet graced with the womanly curves of her older sisters, the Grand Duchess cut a fine figure. 

Gleb’s breath caught at his last thought, an innocent blush rising up his neck and blossoming across his throat. Damn this heat.

Time drug slowly now, a buzz in Gleb’s ears as the summer’s sultry grasp continued to pull at every piece of him. His own beating heart sounded deftly, muffled and yet sharp all at once. 

The Grand Duchess continued to appraise him, her eyes darting down along his nose and lips, scanning briefly over his chest, and then around his face once more. Gleb could’ve sworn she almost arched an eyebrow imperceptibly in his direction. Her lips pulled back a hair’s breadth or so, creases in her mouth beginning to form. It was like watching a rose bloom in slow motion; the outer petals pulled back, reaching and splaying themselves. Gleb caught her almost steady herself and her mouth flattened once more. 

Gleb’s eyes narrowed a fraction, tempting and teasing her in the way only a young man can with a young woman. He imagined them briefly as just that: two strangers meeting outside of this ridiculous show of wealth. Would they have stopped upon seeing one another, perhaps struck up a conversation? Or was the Grand Duchess’ personality all her own, royalty discarded?

He watched the Grand Duchess closely, noting that the procession ahead seemed to be picking up speed once more. If he was going to make some mark on her memory, he had to do it now.

But why? his inner voice demanded. Why did he seem so bent on making an impression? Surely she would forget him the minute the parade turned the corner and she found some other handsome stranger to play with.

Seeing the driver pull the reins back towards his wrists in the beginnings of a snap, Gleb hurled caution to the wind and held a hand up towards his heart before giving it a light flourish and then bending at the waist. It was clearly a sarcastic mannerism for Gleb knew no one really bowed like this unless they were a pompous idiot, but again, look at who was in power.

The sound of the carriage wheels grating against the pavement and the clops of the horses’ hooves pulled Gleb quickly up in time to see the Grand Duchess trying, and failing miserably, at suppressing a smile. Her hand, so small and fine, came to her cheek to attempt covering her mouth, but Gleb could clearly see her lips pull back, a row of lovely teeth peeking out from behind them. Two dainty dimples creased into the sides of her smile and Gleb could almost catch the tinkling of a giggle through the breeze. She kept her eyes on him, turning her head to angle herself better as the carriage pulled away. Gleb found himself smiling back, though not a full and free grin, but a gentle tugging of muscle all the same. 

His heart felt lighter in that one split second than it had been in eons. How long had it been since he last experienced this feeling of joy and serene happiness? He hadn’t expected the interaction to go as it had, but as the sun beat down on them and glistened of a head of auburn hair, Gleb realized that perhaps he hadn’t every truly felt like this before. Always a stoic boy in his youth and into his early teenage years, Gleb had never allowed himself to ponder things like a future of contentment. His father had raised him to be kind, but always suffer for the good of the people. He’d never had a chance to contemplate his own place in the world and what he could make for himself.

A swift swelling sensation in his breast brought him back to himself and he realized the parade was travelling on. His legs abruptly started on their own and he found himself walking briskly to keep up with the carriage. The light from the luminous summer sun was almost blinding and Gleb was suddenly squinting, almost on the verge of yelling out her name in the hopes of one last glance. He held a hand to his brow, shielding what he could, but all to suddenly the final corner of the street appeared and the procession was turning, shining strands of copper disappearing behind the crest of a building. 

It was over.

The parade was gone and Gleb found the warmth that had filled his heart dissipate. A whisper of cold loneliness caught him by surprise and Gleb let out a harsh breath. He felt as if he’d just run halfway across Saint Petersburg, gasps shaking his body.

For one moment it was like the sun and stars aligned and now, now they had moved on and he was left behind. Gleb had never experienced such a violent change within himself and he staggered to the front of a store, his hand shakily coming up to the window to hold his weight.

He was all at once at war with himself. How could _ she _ , the sworn enemy of the people, stir such emotions within him? How could _ she _have had such an effect on him? Confusion and rage blossomed alongside a deeply grinding yearning. If only he could see her one last time, sort himself out. He just knew deep within his bones that he needed to find her again. It was as if the carriage had taken a piece of his soul with it as it passed and he would damned for eternity to chase after it.

The crowd, sensing that the moment of peak excitement had come and gone, began to shuffle on to whatever duties needed to be done. In a matter of minutes, Gleb found himself alone on the street side, his heart and mind a swirl of monumental mess. Even the sound of the carriage had disappeared beyond his senses and Gleb leaned further back against the window, his knees weak. The final waves of whatever had happened washed over him and Gleb was truly and utterly a wreck, both for what had happened and that it even happened at all. 

He tried to dissect everything that had occurred, playing each second repeatedly in his mind’s eye. Before he could come to the moment when he finally laid eyes on her, a voice—a real, coming from down the street voice—called Gleb’s name and his replaying of memories was shattered.

His mother had come for him, worried that he hadn’t returned home yet and that his father would find out where he was. She briskly grabbed hold of Gleb’s shoulder, her hand reminding him of the Grand Duchess’ in stature, but not in elegance. With a rushed squeeze, she signaled it was time to go. Gleb took one final glance down the road to the last turn in the procession and closed his eyes, picturing the mess of auburn hair, the pert nose and delicate mouth. This image would haunt him until the day he died. This was something of absolute certainty and Gleb felt his heart swear an oath that it would find its missing piece, no matter what corner of the world he had to follow it to.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had originally had Gleb and Anya older, so please let me know if any wording sounds a bit inappropriate for their young teenage selves. Thank you so much for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello we're all back now. Sorry for the delay. I was so deep in team Glenya and made some edits on Tumblr for fun, but dang real life caught up and work has been insane. I've been sitting on this chapter for about two weeks with zero idea about how to write Anastasia. Gleb just seemed so much easier? 
> 
> Anyways, my characterization of Anastasia at age 13 is that she just wants to be a girl, but feels torn and sometimes overwhelmed by her duties. Imagine how much their mother shielded them from the public eye and now she's off being literally paraded in front of thousands of people. I hope it flows.
> 
> Also, big BIG thanks to everyone that commented, kudo'd, and so forth. I haven't written in eons and forgot how fun it can be. I very much appreciate everyone's generous words. What a lovely fandom you've all created!

Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov fussed with the sash that tugged along her shoulder, across her chest, and pulled tightly at her hip. How she hated the finery that was involved every time she had to make a public appearance. At her age, she should be playing with her siblings, riding horseback, and hosting tea gatherings. She shouldn’t be suffocating under layers of tulle and whalebone. Sitting opposite her, her sisters, Olga and Tatiana Nikolaevna, eyed her with a deep scrutinization. Tatiana turned up her chin a fracture and tutted gently.

Her other sister, Maria Nikolaevna, watched her sympathetically, eyes boring into her own as if to commiserate with her. They knew it was their duty to their people, to appear before them, but years of being shielded away from the public by their mother had born in them a slight nervousness and impartiality to the theatrics of it all.

Anastasia huffed a rough breath and cast her eyes ahead of her, watching as the procession entered the main roads of Saint Petersburg. She could hear the yells and cheers of a large crowd and her eyes widened when she realized just how many people were out in this oppressive heat to see them. While her older sisters seemed to bask in the love and praise of Russia, Anastasia herself always preferred the comfort of their palace where she wasn’t under the magnified eyes of strangers. 

Just ahead of them Anastasia could make out her parents’ carriage where her young brother, Alexei Nikolaevich, was hopping around in his seat alongside their father, Tsar Nicholas II. She could see her father place a gentle hand on Alexei’s shoulder and the boy calmed down, though didn’t fully stop wriggling around in his place. Alexei always adored being out in the crowds with his father and, thought Anastasia wistfully, she supposed that was a good thing as he would be the next tsar of Russia. She had initially been a bit upset when she learned that none of her sisters or herself would get to be in such a position of power, but after growing up and seeing the kind of man her brother would himself become in time, Anastasia was pleased. Perhaps she would find contentment in life to rule beside Alexei in some sort of capacity. She knew Maria longed for nothing more than to find a gentle husband and raise a family; Tatiana wished to pursue her dreams of being in public care; and Olga, well Anastasia wasn’t entirely sure what Olga wanted to do, but it certainly wouldn't be anything involving the government. 

As their carriage rolled along the cobblestone streets, Anastasia’s ears flooded with sound and her eyes tried to take everything in. The streets, which had just moments ago been empty, were slowly being filled with more and more people as they drew closer to the city’s center. 

Young girls and boys about Anastasia’s age stood dutifully on the side of the street, their hands waving wildly above them trying to garnish the attention of any member of the royal family. Anastasia took a quick glance towards her sisters and noted how regally they all held themselves; shoulders back, chins up and square, placid and cool expressions on their faces. Maria would break every so often and lean towards the edge of the carriage, a delicate smile painted on and Olga, ever the most strict of them all, would tap the edge of her shoe against her sister and give her a pointed look. 

Anastasia tried her best to mirror her sisters and adjusted her seat on the carriage bench. If their people wished to see the royal family, then royal she would be. 

The oppressive June heat seemed to blanket the carriage as meter by meter, the procession continued on. From one figure to another, Anastasia’s gaze flitted, catching side glances and full smiles. The road seemed to stretch for miles in front of her and they continued on. She wondered absentmindedly, seeing the adoring faces peering back at her, if these random strangers would like her as much if she was just one of them? Would they like the skits she put on? Would they laugh at her measly attempts at humor? Or would they just see another soft, spoiled child?

The Grand Duchess found herself daydreaming more often the older she got. While the finery that surrounded her was truly opulent, she was not immune to news headlines and the hushed murmurings of servants. She knew her family sat at a precarious place and that war was on the lips of the country. How much longer could they all go on as they were? How would it be to live amongst those that her family ruled and, if she were to change places, would she see her family with the same love and affection she felt? 

Questions like these flew through her mind and she realized she had been drawn away from the present moment. The crowds blurred around her and wide eyes and waving hands fluidly collided with one another. Women held babies up towards the procession as if seeking blessings. Children called out their names. Men stood steadfastly full of curious expressions.

Everything was spinning around her. The layers of her dress seemed to suffocate her, the heat radiating from the cobblestone streets languidly swirling around them. The uniforms of the Russian Army guarding the procession lines blended into the gray stone of the apartments that backed the streets. Anastasia’s head tipped back and she saw level upon level of windows, some open with milk-colored curtains billowing from balconies, some closed off to the noise of the parade. 

Sunlight glinted off panes, flickering like a flame as angles changed with each new street the procession turned down. A dizzying sensation coursed through Anastasia and a roar not belonging to the crowd filled her ears. She longed desperately to return to the palace, to run through the gardens and spy on the workers. She didn’t want to be here. She had to and she would, but she didn't want this.

Suddenly, a cool hand was tapping gently against her hip and Anastasia turned her head every so slightly to the side to catch Maria’s look. Her sister eyed her cautiously from the corner of her peripheral vision, the infamous Romanov gaze mirrored in Anastasia’s own. Maria then gave a curt nod, imperceptible to the hundreds of people around them and Anastasia felt her lungs expand, the weight of her layered linens lighten, and the sunlight’s harsh glare become less overwhelming. The sister she felt closest to always seemed to know just when she was at her limit.

Anastasia’s lips tugged minutely in thanks and she squared herself up for the next turn in the parade route. 

As her parents’ and brother’s carriage disappeared around the corner, Anastasia braced herself for the city center. She had never been down here before as travel was strictly prohibited to any member of the royal family without a chaperone or prior planned outing scheduled. From lampposts to shop fronts, Anastasia felt like a newborn fawn, eyes wide as they sought every piece of new information. The road they came down opened dramatically into an almost circular pattern and if there had been hundreds lining the sidewalks and street corners before, there had to be thousands in the sea before her now. 

On either side of them, the edge of the road fell away in a generous curve allowing pockets of people more access to the carriages. The bright azure sky above opened wide. Anastasia noted offhandedly that not a single cloud dotted the edges of the rooftops. The air was thick and had the electric sensation that often came with summer storms, but nothing brewed. It was if a rainstorm was on the verge of breaking and dousing them all with heavy drops, but the clouds refused to form. 

As each new view of Saint Petersburg passed before them, Anastasia realized with a start that they were slowing down. Her eyes looked forward past Olga and Tatiana and she watched as the carriage in front of them work to maneuver through a sharp angle without trampling the onlookers who were drawing closer to the corners of the street.

A movement through the crowd caught her attention briefly, but it was like a swallow swooping through trees; sharp, light, and gone in an instant. With a curious furrow of her brow, Anastasia glanced swiftly and appraisingly over the crowd, but whatever the dark shadow was that had flitted about, it was gone now.

As the wheels of the carriage gave a sagging groan, the horses stopped and so did the duchesses. Hands continued to wave at her and people boisterously cheered. Again, the sea of people around her seemed to blur together and Anastasia felt a new stiffness in her shoulders. She pulled them back and stretched her shoulder blades, tilting her head just slightly as to lessen the tension. As she peered over the crowd once more, she felt a tickling at the back of her neck as though someone was gently blowing a warm breath along her spine. She turned her head a fraction and then everything—the overbearing buildings, the clapping and screaming, the sun above that never seemed to fade—all came crashing down around her. The non-existent storm broke and rain that never touched her skin burst from the sky, flushing her veins with a violent chill and excruciating heat all at once.

There, not but ten meters from the ornately carved carriage door, stood a young man, a boy really, with the deepest, most fervent gaze she had ever seen. Dark, umber eyes were set below a determined brow; lips forming a strong line carved into a sharp jaw. The boy radiated something wild yet contained and it confused Anastasia. She didn’t interact with older boys very often—some might say rarely—so the sheer emotion coming from him startled her.

She eyed him cautiously, watching as he turned fully to face her, a heavy woolen jacket which appeared far too large, draped over his thin frame. The color of fabric seemed familiar to Anastasia and she racked her brain as to why. Somewhere, she swore, it was mentioned; perhaps in some counsel meeting her father had held.

As the boy continued to hold her gaze, Anastasia realized that none of that mattered in this moment. She watched him watching her and caught his eyes darting lightly over her own figure. A warmth blossomed across her face and suddenly the Grand Duchess realized she was blushing. How dare a common boy so below her station stir these feelings in her? She was the daughter of Tsar Nicholas II, God’s chosen and ordained leader of Russia, for goodness sake. 

As if to parry his own judging stare, Anastasia arched a brow at him. If she couldn’t keep herself from from feeling giddy at the interaction, who could blame her?

Instantly he squared himself, chin tipping upward, gaze never breaking. A challenge.

The deep buzzing of the crowd faded to a subdued hum. Her surroundings dulled until it felt as if only the Grand Duchess and this boy were left alone in the world. It felt so strange to Anastasia; no one ever looked at her like he was looking at her right now. It always seemed like people looked adoringly at the crowns, the dresses, the hair—never at her. No one had ever just looked at_ her_. It was like being noticed for the very first time and happiness unlike anything she’d ever experienced was rapidly bubbling up inside her.

Whether it was involuntary or not, Anastasia felt her cheeks warm and the corners of her mouth begin to tighten. A smile in its most pure and natural was beginning to form. The boy’s eyes narrowed a fraction.

_ Smile_, she thought to herself. _ Please, just smile. _ Though he seemed the kind to withhold most grand emotions, other than determination it appeared, Anastasia felt herself longing to see him smile. She imagined it must be the most wondrous thing to behold. Would his cheeks dimple? Would the corners of his eyes crease? Would he laugh? Suddenly she wanted to know everything about him and if the carriage remained stationary for a moment longer, she feared she may jump from it and find out first hand.

Oh fate, the most fickle of creatures. For at that moment, on that precise pinnacle where Anastasia stood weighing the punishments that would come with her leaving the safety of the carriage and the rapture that would follow as she got closer to the boy, a horse neighed ahead and the Tsar and Tsarina’s carriage lurched forward, the Grand Duchesses’ own moments from doing the same.

A panic swelled oddly in Anastasia’s breast at the idea of moving on from this moment. _ Do something_, the desperate voice begged. _ Please. _These thoughts startled Anastasia. Why did so much hang on this one moment? Her breath caught in her throat and she realized she was counting the beats of her heart.

Then, as if he too sensed their connection would be broken, his body moved. A hand, large yet elegant, was thrust towards his heart. He paused a second, perhaps two, then gave it a quick flourish before bending himself forward in the most outlandish bow. What a gesture!

Without warning, the air was knocked from her lungs and Anastasia sucked in her lips to keep a laugh from bursting forth. The boy was still looking down. The carriage was moving on. 

At the reemerging sound of hoofbeats on the cobblestone street, he snapped up and their eyes fumbled for one another once more. Then it was as if the crowd was rushing forward and all too soon, the boy was being lost to her. She couldn’t contain herself any more and a full smile spread across her face. Her hand came up to cover it, but she knew he saw it for the most beautiful thing happened and he smiled back. It wasn’t anything exorbitant, but if she looked closely she could see the beginnings of dimples and that image alone made her smile widen a fraction more. His eyes twinkled with laughter and Anastasia swore she had never seen anything as lovely in all her life. Below the facade of a good and loyal Russian, she could see the boy he wanted to be: a boy who would grow into a man full of love for his country, his people, and, perhaps even, her family.

As the carriage moved on, Anastasia turned her head to watch him and with a surge of happiness, she realized he was walking briskly to keep up with her. The road narrowed and buildings folded inwards. Sunlight bounced frantically from window to window as the carriage picked up speed and try as she might to keep eye contact, the sharp, painful glare caused her to squint. She tried to fight it, but all to soon she was forced to close her eyes. The horses took the turn and though Anastasia wanted desperately to turn her body fully around, she knew it would break countless rules of etiquette. She opened her eyes again and looked back as far as they could before suddenly, far too suddenly, they had moved on. 

Warmth was leached from her limbs and the cosmic alignment that had somehow brought them together had passed. Her body felt weary as if she had just run miles. Her breath was knocked from her. A simple boy, one face in a crowd of thousands… How could it be possible that such an interaction could have such an all encompassing, devastating effect on her? She was a Romanov. She was above these feelings. Wasn’t she? She closed her eyes briefly and found an impossibly deep umber gaze seared into her memory along with a sweet smile.

Maria’s fingers found the edge of her sash once more and Anastasia almost gasped as she was drug violently back into reality.

A furrowed brow and deeply concerned eyes watched her. Anastasia took a moment and counted one, then two breaths, before relaxing. With a nod, she signaled to her sister that she would be okay.

Wouldn’t she be? 

As the crowds behind her thinned and they reached the end of the precession line, all Anastasia could think of was finding that boy again. If anyone could scour of all of Russia for that smile, she could. So much seemed unknown to her now, but there was one simple truth that blazed before her: She knew with the utmost certainty that she would never be fully free of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again. Please feel free to point out any inconsistencies or errors and I'll see you all in a bit with my favorite chapter featuring 20s/30s Glenya.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come say hi on [Tumblr](http://forsimplicityssake.tumblr.com) and we can cry together about some Glenya.


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